Hate That I Love You
by Valexian rose
Summary: "Feelin' used, but I'm still missing you and I can't see the end of this- just wanna feel your kiss against my lips, and now all this time is passin by but I can't seem to tell you why it hurts me, every time I see you, realized, how much I need you… I don't mean no harm I just miss you on my arm wedding bells were just alarms caution tape around my heart..." Rating will change.
1. Chapter 1

He hates her, wants to fucking reap the life of her body, tear her limb from limb, wants to rob her of the air she breathes in every day. He wants to watch her burn, wants her to live through all her fears every day, he wants to be the one to put her there. Wants to be the only one to watch her scream in terror. He almost did it, he almost got to her, but Edward kept screaming, he almost got her over the edge, but he didn't mean for her to slip, if only she hadn't struggled. If Four hadn't become her fucking knight in shining armor, God he could have just scared her and had her know that he was the one in control here.

Then it was number boy to the rescue, having the nerve to keep it up with him until she called his name, Four's name, not his. Jealousy sunk in, he wanted her to know, that Four wasn't the only one fawning over her. First it was ranking, he couldn't understand how a tiny Abnegation prude could take him on in a match, to dare try and fight back. To get first in initiation, to rub it in his face in a way that she wasn't brought up to do. She was a rebel, and maybe that's why he hated her, or maybe he hated the fact that he couldn't have her.

Four was an ongoing nuisance, was a pestering force that continued to frustrate him, was the reason that he had so much anger, if it weren't just for the attention he got from Eric, but it had to be in every painful and uncomfortably twist in his stomach and chest he had every time he watched them together. Saw her smile at him, he didn't want her to smile, or maybe he did. He didn't want Four to be the reason, didn't want the trainer in the picture. It drove him insane, after they were together.

Punching bags weren't enough to take the edge off, his TMC training wasn't enough, the labor he put his body through. He didn't have a girlfriend, he didn't want one, he just wanted to vent the hurt he felt, why did he hurt anyway? And whenever he asked himself what was wrong with him, his mind would flash to the bubbly and happy blonde that was getting married in a few months.

Initiation was long over, and it had been nearly three years, he was already 19, and one of the most assholish tendencied masochistic bastard of a man out there. That didn't keep him from wanting, he wanted things he couldn't have, it turned into hate, and disposition, and anger and the rage kept him going. He had a score to settle, and he wanted it done. She was always at the source it seemed, and he no longer wanted to watch her suffer, he wanted to feel her squirm, wanted to inhale her excited heady scent and damn her as he let her bleed.

He found he did that lately, even while beating the shit out of a leather sand bag, he often thought of her, and what she might sound like, what she looked like under those clothes. She filled out nicely. He wanted to ruin her. De-purify her, destroy any self confidence she had, get her afraid of interloping again, wanted to hear her scream and beg. But that wasn't right, was it. No it never was, his sexual fantasies always went so far, until he had the urge to make her suffer. Why was it that he was so hell bent on hearing her spit profanities at him, to feel her struggle beneath him as he took what he wanted? _Was_ he sick?

His hands stopped beating the leather, stopped pounding and began throbbing, even though he wrapped them. Maybe he shouldn't bite his nails as much. But was that _it_? That made him stop? That single, three worded endearing thought that meant he might have given a shit about what he did to people? Was he sick? He didn't know, but it was enough to make him take a breather and sit down, his hair being tugged from his scalp and his breath huffing past his lips. But he liked doing it, it was why he thought about it, why he did the things he did in the first place, why he scolded himself for stopping there, for never going further, never completing the horror he started instead of letting loose. Was something wrong with him? Surely not, he wanted to watch her bleed, right? Wanted anyone who ever wronged him to burn in a hell he made for them, just for them so they could scream until their voices gave out. Was he sick? It was a thought he took for the month.

Standing by the chasm with a bottle of whiskey in his grasp was probably not the best idea, but who gave a shit? No one, obviously. He grinned at the prospect, he was granted attention only when he did as he was told, only when he excelled, he didn't have any friends, no one would miss him. So who gave a shit if he accidently fell down?

He wasn't a coward though, was he? Was he a coward for attacking her, 3 on 1 in the dark late at night, for slipping his hand in places she hated, for trying to get rid of competition. He laughed to himself, fuck cloak and dagger, do it in daylight. He wasn't a coward, not like Al who couldn't bear the thought of not being loved, what an idiot. He smiled, looking down into the rushing water and breathing in the slight salt, in the damp that came with it. But couldn't he not bear being loved? Wasn't that why he picked on his sister? Why he was the home wrecker while in Candor, why he got other people to believe they weren't loved either, that he was capable of giving it? All he knew was that he liked seeing the agony on their faces, his enemies, that he was good at manipulation, and lying, and dealing pain. He'd never tried being gentle.

Was that his problem? Not being gentle? What did being gentle with creatures who were fragile to begin with have to do with kindness? Or being sick? He scoffed, huffing out a laugh at himself, going down the invisible checklist, he was incapable of being loved or giving it, he liked hurting people, got jealous easily, was terrible at making friends, no one would give a fuck if he disappeared suddenly-sure people would wonder but hell, no one would care-and he'd never get what he always craved, he was an alcoholic at 19, fucked instead of loved any woman he came across, so what was the point in all this?

"Peter!"

Oh, what? He looked as he swayed, glaring at the voice, God couldn't a man drink in peace? A body crashed into him, or more so grabbed him. Had be been going over? Oh joy, an accident, he'd pull the person over with him. But that wasn't right, what had they ever done? Tried to stop him? Disturbed his late night early morning drinking? He was slammed down on the metal grate over the chasm, his whiskey flying over the edge and a body crumpling over him. Panting and huffing, he growled at the throbbing in his head, at the weight on top of him. It was a girl, that much he knew by the placement of her hips and the absence of a twitchy member. He inhaled, and though his breath and reek of heavy spirit he could smell honey, and something spicy, it might have been his drink but God he wanted the smell.

It came from her he found, and he grew light headed at the glimpse of her face. Grey blue eyes, parted lips and all, fuck him. Mother fucker, son of a bitch piece of shit oh fuck she was on top of him. Her lips inches from his and her hips locked perfectly on his. Oh shit. Ohhh if he had known just how well she filled out. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he leaned up and captured her lips in his, though he doubted him kissing her was pleasant. He was drunk, and nearly fell over the side of the chasm. Still her lips were soft, and her body even softer, his arms moving on their own accord as they circled around her waist, crushing her to him as he kissed her. Her taste was addicting, and he felt like beating the shit out of Four for taking her lips for granted. He could worship her just from that. But he liked the feistiness he elicited from her as his cheek was a raging hot pink, her hand up for another.

She stood, fixing herself and brushing off dirt that might have come from him. Then she glared something hot that made him want to groan, "You know what, next time you want to jump, just go ahead, you disgusting waste of space," she shouted at him, or maybe she tried not to. The ring on her finger glittered and he got to his feet, staring her down and getting closer, inhaling her honey spice again. He could just bite her, suck and lick and see if she tasted as good as she smelled, if her skin was like her lips, if she'd ever let him down between her legs. He smirked at her, "Next time, mind your own fucking business Tris, go home to your fiance,"

"You know _some people_ might give a damn if you decide you're a sack of rice near the chasm,"

"Like who?"

"People," She mumbled to him, looking down at the ground in shame, she hadn't stepped back. He was okay with that, but he wanted to touch her, and he was thrilled that he hadn't pictured killing her yet. His hand slid up her arm, nails ghosting her skin, calloused fingers closing around her arm softer than he thought he meant to do it, and she shivered. He was suddenly down by her neck, lips brushing her skin as he mumbled to her, "Go home to your fiance, before I do something he might not like," He watched as she struggled, glaring at the railing and then him for a second before she took a breath, eyes softening some. Then she pressed her hand to the side she had slapped, making him nearly flinch as it still stung despite his drunken stupor, then she was on her toes and pressing her lips to his cheek, her eyes an apology and full of worry. Why was she worried? She hated him, wanted to see his guts spill she had told him that.

She left him there in the chasm bridge, confused and turned on and partially angry, he wanted to be furious, wanted to demand she compensate for slapping him so openly. But he had deserved it, she was getting married, and he had taken advantage of her in such a way. He still stumbled home, crashing on his couch, trying not to think about her, but who was he trying to bull shit? That was impossible.

He was invited to the wedding, and he didn't know why. Hadn't she remembered the chasm? Both times? Didn't she remember how much he hated her? What fucked her into thinking inviting him was a good idea? Either way, even if he had an answer to those questions, he wouldn't attend. He didn't feel like being tortured, watching her kiss Four, he didn't want to go back into that dark place. He just got help for his problem, Erudite was keen on psychology and were very excited to peel into his mind, to give him some help. He didn't want the thoughts of death and horrific things coming back, didn't want to be his only friend with quiet voices egging him on, always questioning what was wrong and why he regret it every time. He wouldn't attend, because he didn't want to see that beaming smile on her face, to see her adorning a once in a lifetime outfit, to see her standing there with Four. He wouldn't attend.

He showed up last minute, just as she was about to walk down the aisle. He knew enough about weddings to know who everyone was by title, and damn did her father look stiff and uncomfortable. It seemed to be a full blown Abnegation wedding, which was small and dull and coarse and he felt the need to hit something for a little entertainment.

He didn't know why he showed up, he told himself that he wouldn't, yet here he was, watching and listening to the vows exchange, watched them lean in, but caught the look of apprehension on her face. What was she nervous about? Marrying the man she'd always been with? There was nothing to worry about, she'd be just fucking fine and dandy with that bitch of a man. Did Four even know what he held so gently? She wasn't one to be held gently, was one to be cherished and cared for yes, but she was anything but fragile. She wasn't going to break, he admired that about her.

Watching them dance was hell, catching how Four pressed her closer to him, how Four kissed her frequently and caught his gaze just as much. It was torture, sitting there turning down every drink offered when he really fucking needed one, he hated Four more than ever now, because he did it on purpose. It was obvious the invitation wasn't sent by him. Whatever, get over it bitch. He stared at the floor, watching the polished reflection of them spinning, smiling, laughing and dancing, enjoying each others company. He had to step out, get some air, his nails were picked red, and his knuckles were white.

The bathroom was empty enough, and he took the time to glare at the reflection of himself in the water in his hands. He was such an idiot, thinking, hoping, _wanting_ everything _her_. He knew he was teasing himself, leading himself on every second he was near her. Fuck. Why did it matter? Why was he hung up on her? Why couldn't he get over her, let her go? He hit the wall, his knuckles popping. He sighed, well, that was counterproductive. After cleaning his hand he returned to the tables that surrounded the dance area. She was seated at the table was was alone at, and her new husband was surprisingly absent from her side.

"Sick of him already?"

She looked up at him, shock reaching her eyes and making her part her perfect lips, God how he wanted to kiss her again. He tucked his hands gingerly in his pockets, wearing the only grey clothes he could find. She recovered quickly and gave him a small smile, she stood for a second, but his hand stopped her, it was her wedding, she shouldn't give up her seat. Staring at him curiously she shook her head, smiling, "No, he's talking with my father," She answered, lacing her fingers in her lap, eyes taking him in. "You look good, Peter," She began, pulling his attention, "What happened?"

"What have I always looked like shit?" He mused, smirking as a delighted laugh escaped her small body. "You look different," She explained, rising to her feet, grabbing his arm gently and eventually sliding her hand into his, "Dance with me,"

"I don't dance,"

"It'll give me an excuse to talk to you," She mumbled, smiling at him and pulling him again, catching how he hissed through his teeth when her hands touched his cracked open knuckles. Her brows furrowed slightly before she spoke, placing his hands on her, "You came,"

"I did," He confirmed, pulling her a bit closer so that he could inhale her sweet scent. Her fingers squeezed his arm, "I didn't think you would," She continued, voice light as she rested her forehead to his shoulder.

"I didn't think so either," He muttered, brushing his nose to her hair,

"So why did you?" She asked him, eyebrows raised and her lips a teasing smile,

"I don't really know, but I imagine your husband isn't pleased with me being here,"

"He can grow up," She huffed, and he laughed at her. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed out of humor. It seemed that she was the only one able to do that. They danced in silence for a bit, him feeling her press to him, her heart pounding against him as she held him tightly. She broke the silence, "I forgive you,"

"What?"

"For what you did to me, I forgive you," She repeated, catching his gaze as he reached out and spun her gently, watching her soft hair swirl with her. His heart cringing when she smiled at him, why was she smiling? Did he not cause her enough pain back then? Was she okay with it now? Why was she forgiving him? "I think I understand now why you did it, took me a while though," She told him, looking up at his eyes.

"Why did I do it then?" He nearly growled, making her fingers dig into his arm.

"You were afraid, and jealous and unused to everything,"

"No," He huffed, a laugh hardly vibrating his chest, "That's not it,"

"What is it then?" She demanded, upset that he kept the answer, so he pulled her closer and dipped her, leaning down and staring her in the face, "Not something you want to hear," She was pulled back up, spinning around him then back into his arms, they twirled, "Tell me," She said, determination in her eyes as always as he sighed at her. He didn't feel the need to keep it in anymore, and it might save him the burden of holding it in, "I'm in love with you," He told her, and the look of shock on her face was enough. He was out the door as soon as Four had turned from speaking with Andrew.

 **Hey guys, a story I've been venting on, really, one that goes in depth to Peter's mind about Tris, and his struggling attraction for her. Tell me what you think of it, and I'll update accordingly, I would however, like to apologize for my negligence to my other stories, I'm moving into my new house all this week, and house hunting all last week has made things more hectic than what they need to be. Things will be back to normal soon, I promise.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Mature Ma/A rating content ahead, rated M for +18 or older, or mature audiences. Sex and mentions of abuse, and well, a lot of f-bombs. Read at your own risk.**

It had been approximately 5 months, 23 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes and 12 seconds. If he was counting milliseconds he'd go crazy, they were married now and there was nothing he could do about it. He huffed, slamming his fists into the bag, switching up every counted 5 minutes to a different move, and every 15 minutes to a different fighting style. His body screaming in pain, hot sore muscles burning in his core, his legs threatening to give in jelly, his arms sore and in a piercing pain. It wasn't enough though, his physical pain was nothing compared to the pain that raged inside of him. A storm of hellish magnitude, ripping him apart, he felt like dying. He screamed out as he attacked the bag, frustrated with life, with himself.

He never had her, but hell, why didn't he try? Why didn't he try to have her in his arms the way she was with Four? Why was he the way he was? Sobriety was dangerous, it made him think more and ignore less, which was a problem, getting off his problem was enough to put dents in his walls. His sex life diminished as he rarely hit up the bar if at all, and he held in so much pent up frustration. She hadn't talked to him after her wedding, but he didn't expect her to, telling her how he really felt without fully admitting it to himself was a huge mistake, and must have thrown her out of scale.

Why was he such a shitty person? What was so wrong with him? Predisposed to screw with people's lives it seems, he fucked his own up enough. He sat back, staring at the bag which swung helplessly from the chain, rotating slowly and keeping him somewhat calm. His breath came out in soft pants, and he stripped himself of his shirt, using it as a sweat rag, which didn't help much, Dauntless in the summer time was hell if not worse, minus the burning fires. They had a chasm though, he smirked to himself, his own sarcasm amusing him. Still at a lack of friends it was the only thing he ought to do for entertainment and the prevention of partial insanity, though he was partial to it in the beginning. He expected he'd go home after training, after taking a nice rinse in the showers, oh yeah, and he'd catch up on some paper work for the trainnies. God the world was drab and boring without his bottle of alcohol each and every night.

Either way, it was what he imagined he'd do for the remainder of the day, he did not however, picture the Tris Prior-Eaton standing in the training room, locking the door behind her. He was caught off guard yes, but wasn't phased when he caught the look of rage on her face. Still able to hold a grudge was she? He sighed at her, turning and walking for the showers before she caught his hand and rolled him down onto the sparring mat. He looked at her curiously with furrowed brows as she straddled him, rolling her hips on him and narrowing her eyes. He shuddered under her and let his head fall back, his own waist bucking up in a fluid motion in response, she placed her hands on his chest, doing it again but harder and deeper. Words passed his lips without him meaning to, "Oh fuck Tris," She giggled at him and leaned down, "Glad to see I can get a rise out of you," His eyes widened and he looked up at her, ignoring his throbbing member and staring at her hard, "What are you doing?"

"Seeing something," She muttered, fingers looping in the elastic at his sweats. His eyes widened and his hands suddenly wrapped around her wrists and he flipped her, getting on top of her in a restraining position. She fussed, glaring and tearing up, huffing and struggling to get him off, he jerked her, pulling her up so she would pull back. Then his face was close to hers, "What are you doing here, Tris?"

"What? Too much of a man now to let me touch you? Your therapy sessions make you sterile Peter?" He sighed impatiently, brushing the insults off and glaring at her, making her suddenly tremble, "This isn't you,"

"How do you know?" She pushed, eyebrow cocking. How did he know? Well he was in love with her, but he was her enemy before anything, and hating someone's guts meant you watched everything they did, and read into everything they said. He knew her nervous habits, knew what made her uncomfortable, knew what set her off and what she was tolerable to, there was very little that he didn't know about the girl under him. "Because I know you," He said finally.

"Right, just like you're in love with me?" She hissed, he dropped her roughly, placing his hands on either side of her head and leaning in, "You looking for a fight, Tris?" He asked her, low in his throat and he felt her shiver. She tossed an easy smirk, "More than that," She tried, leaning up to him. He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down firmly, "Too fucking bad, get yourself straight Tris," He said, getting off of her and walking for the showers, listening to her scramble to her feet, "You fucking coward, can't even take me when you want it huh? How are you sure you'd ever be able to handle me? You're so pathetic," She scoffed at him, slapping her hand down to her thigh and about to turn when he rounded, grasping her wrist tight enough to scare some sense into her but to keep from bruising her. He roared though, making her eyes widen, "If I'm so pathetic why are you here practically begging to fuck me when you're married Tris? Can you answer that?" She stayed silent for only a moment before he continued, "I'm not the coward here, if anything I'm looking out for you, go get yourself some help or go home, you're not getting what you want," He stormed, watching her begin to cry, and melt against him.

Crying was something new to him, especially involving other people. Never before did he imagine she'd be crying on the floor in his arms, it simply wasn't her, she was so strong. So when it actually happened, he tried his best to console her. Her tears were warm against his skin and made him shiver as they trailed down his stomach, "I hate you, you're such a liar,"

"I know," He said,

"You don't love me, you're not capable of loving," His grip tightened on her, that statement hurt like a mother fucker, and it was much worse than the slap to the face he received for kissing her. But he did know that he was capable of loving, especially if he loved her, or maybe it was infatuation that kept him going, that he was able to push down. Either way, his thoughts contradicted her statement, but he agreed with her anyway, "Okay Tris,"

"So why did you say that to me?"

"It's how I feel,"

"Fucking bull shit," She said, and it made him chuckle at her,

"Such a dirty mouth, kiss your husband with those lips?" He questioned, but it made her start sobbing harder. Then he realized she was venting, that she wasn't actually angry with him in particular in fact, angry at her new husband, for something. His hand swept along her shoulders, nails teasing her skin, as he held her tighter, in a more protective manner. If the old him had been there, he would have laughed and spit some BS about them, never before did he think he'd want to keep her from harm. "What did he do?"

"Monogamy is such bull shit, the lies you feed to children," She hissed, glaring at the wall across from her. He sighed, looking down at her and brushing his nose to her hair, "I'm sorry,"

"You're not supposed to be allowed to do that either,"

"What, be sorry?"

"And have regrets, you're supposed to be the asshole that I would never want to be with, but here I am crying in your arms like a weak child when I should suck it up," She muttered. And even though what she said bothered him and made him question how she really felt about him as opposed to what she was saying, he encouraged her, "You're not a weak child Tris, you're the strongest person I know,"

"Yeah, so much for that, can't even handle my husband cheating on me,"

"You love him, it's only natural,"

"He doesn't love me," She muttered,

"He does, he's just stupid,"

"No, he's intelligent and wise and hardly foolish, if he really loved me he wouldn't have continued to do it even after our marriage, they did it for 8 months, and I just found out. I must be the laughing stock of Dauntless right now, the naive little Abnegation girl," He didn't have a response to that, so instead he let her sit in silence, aside from the sniffles she made every once and a while. Eventually he helped her up and she wobbled to her feet, refusing to look at him, her voice much softer now, and closer to being broken, "I'm sorry for earlier, I shouldn't have done those things, or said those things,"

"Don't worry about it," He said to her, "Want me to take you to Christina's? Or will you be fine on your own?" She looked up at him, eyes puffy and red and her face just tired.

"Take me to your place."

* * *

He sat her on his couch, a serene sight even if she was in a vulnerable state, he gave her one of his most comfortable blankets which he snagged from Amity in one of his trips. She wrapped it around herself idly and stared around the room, zoning in on what few pictures of his family he had and the areas he had been in, some of his squad mates and himself as they patrolled outside the wall. He sighed through his nose, fixing a glass of water for her and placing it on the coffee table that came with the apartment. She said nothing to him at first, and they sat in silence for the most part, until she grew brave, "I didn't know you had a sister,"

"She transferred to Amity a year ago,"

"Do you see her from time to time?"

"Rarely, usually I have to break from my squadron to visit, she works with children,"

"She sounds lovely," She mumbled, looking over to him before picking up the glass of water he presented. He huffed a laugh through his nose, "A lot nicer than I am," He muttered to her, watching how she smirked and took a gulp. Nearly draining the cup before placing it back down. She was silent again, thinking out her plan ahead as he struggled not to pick at his nails, having her so close for so long made him nervous, even more so now that they were behind closed doors, his closed doors. She spoke again, voice soft, "I came here with the intention of talking, but I don't really want to do that right now,"

"What do you want then?" He asked her, his own mind ranging from zero to one hundred very quickly. She licked her lips before biting them, narrowing her eyes gently before looking over at him. Then she moved, her legs swinging over his, and she was on his lap again, her hair over one shoulder and her lip caught between her teeth. She placed her hands on his shoulders and let her fingers trail back into his dark hair, "I want you to kiss me," She whispered against his lips. He tensed up, drawing back a bit and placing his hands on her hips to keep her from using them.

"Tris,"

"I'm sure I want this, and I'm prepared for whatever consequences come," She mumbled, fluttering her eyes shut and brushing her lips to his. God her lips were soft. He tightened his fingers on her waist, "Tell me you aren't using me, that there's more to this," He said to her, demanded of her nearly as his fingers threatened to leave bruises. The old him would have her on her back and squealing by now, the level of control rushing through him was driving him mad, but he needed to know. She looked at him, blinking slowly before placing a soft kiss on his lips, "I'm not using you, I promise," She told him, and he smashed his lips to hers radically.

He had imagined the sounds she would make, he had thought up all the subtle mewls, and all the cries of ecstasy. He imagined what she would do too, how her fingers would grip at his hair, nails scrape at his scalp, how her lips would part after a little over a minute, he counted. How she would arch into him, or tremble, how she would squirm on his lap, possibly wanting more. And how she would feel under his fingertips. But he was wrong when he thought about the feeling of her skin, or the texture of her hair.

Her lightly tanned skin was warm to the touch, heating his cold fingertips, it was soft, and smooth, and hairless, she had done something to get rid of it on her legs. He felt her muscles tense when she lifted up on her knees, pressing him back and letting her hair drape the side of her head, her lips kissing him this time, a hard searing kiss that was full of mixed feelings. She filled in great, last time he touched her, in any way really, that much he knew by how she moaned when his hands slid up to her ass. When he squeezed her, his fingertips spanning down between her legs, fingertips digging into her inner thigh, making her shiver and squirm.

When she lowered herself, she rolled, brushing herself against him, straining his sweats. His hand left her soft and squishy ass to slide up her back, bunching up her shirt, lifting it with more effort than he liked. He pulled back from her, latching his teeth on her lip, pulling and making her sigh. He was making that happen, he was the one eliciting those sounds from her. His mind told him to devour her whole, to show her what she'd been missing, to dominate and take it all, take her. His body wanted something similar, he didn't comply, much to his distress, with the war going on in his head. He tried not to think, and held himself back, knowing that he would need to play by her wants in order to go through with it.

She was topless, now. Her soft heat pressing up against his bare chest in the most delicious way, he wanted to squeeze her, wanted to play, to tease and fondle what she had hidden until now. She was addicting, her taste swarming his senses, her smell making him dizzy with desire, the heat between them clashing and his body reacting every time he rolled his hips to meet hers. The sounds she made, how she felt. He wasn't surprised when he managed to lift her up from that position, she was lighter than he thought. They didn't kiss while he carried her, instead and nuzzled into her neck and took her to his room, while she squeezed her legs about his waist.

He never imagined, if they ever had sex, hot dominating and submissive sex where she was screaming out his name and begging for the good stuff, that he'd ever do it this way. Her legs were loose around his hips, her body almost completely nude now that he had stripped her. Her eyes watching everything, her chest rising and falling with each pant as he kissed, as he scraped his teeth along her sensitive skin, as he softly bit before licking in that spot, watching for a bit before she arched her back as he sucked at the apex of her thighs to the front of her abdomen. She withered under him, a slave to his touches, to the way he kneaded her soft and supple breasts, how his thumbs flicked and swirled over her sensitive buds.

Her scent was something that made him nearly keel, sweet, and heady. He could take her this way, teasing her as he prepared for the good stuff. He didn't, because she was panting his name and whining, almost begging for all of him. The piece of cloth that covered her flower was removed, and he finished undressing with a swift pull regarding his fingers. He didn't have to ask if she was clean, she'd been with one person, and no doubt would have objected him from sliding into her with some difficulty. He groaned, brows knitting and eyes narrowing, he watched as she arched and gasped, trembling and moaning softly, a long string of his name and something she couldn't coherently put together.

It was slow, and easy, and teasing and his fingers never stopped working her. One arm held her legs up to him even as he leaned forward, invading her deeper and pressing in places that made her cry out. He smiled, watching as she moved with him, at the expression on her face. Eventually, she warned him, she didn't need to, he could already feel her start to tighten, to tense, to hold back and tremble. But when she came it was hard, and he took the opportunity to switch to something more attuned to him, something she gave clearance to by a pleading look on her face. He held himself up on his forearm, his other hand lifting her hips and angling her perfectly, and his thrusts became much quicker. She moaned whenever something felt good, so there was hardly a pause of silence, and she came undone in a few minutes, her flower more sensitive to friction, she was also impossibly tight, and it was nearly enough to make him tumble over that invisible edge with her.

He leaned down to her, and did something he shouldn't have, he kissed her, softly, sweetly, eating her moans as she trembled beneath him again. Her hands gripped at his hair, his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and dragging down his back as he used her weakness against her. Tip to base, was something she couldn't take for very long, but she was struggling to catch up to the other two times she let herself unravel in his bed. She tensed up, and she grew hot, her limbs sweaty and her body shaking as he drove into her. It was when he lost the rhythm they were in, when her hips ground up against his with each thrust in a different angle which made him brush patches and corners, that he filled her. He was much faster now, and groaning shamelessly, panting with her as she mewled, and then he was done for, because she came a third and final time.

He stayed buried deep inside of her as long as he could, until she looked tired, until he really needed a shower. When he pulled from her, she grabbed his arm, and with surprising force pulled him down to a kiss. One that wasn't searing, just slow, one that was deeper, one that mingled and sent shocks through his body, one that made him want to kiss her forever. He turned, his fingers brushing hers as he walked for his shower.

She was dressed in his clothes when he came back, curled up in his sheets as though she were afraid it wasn't real. Or maybe that's what his mind wanted, maybe he was tired of dealing with the fact he couldn't have her to himself. That she was in fact, still married, cheating or not. That she would never be his now in any other way aside from sex. That in mind, he shoved aside his concerns about what he might have thought of her, how he might have taken her, if she'd still be breathing right now if he hadn't gotten help. Haunting thoughts to fall asleep to with honey spice brushing his nose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: This story is labeled M for mature audiences only, +18. Rated for f-bombs, sex, and mentions of abuse. Proceed at your own risk.**

He should have known she wouldn't be there in the morning. But it didn't hurt any less, in fact it hurt more, he was right. God how he hated being right about an unpleasant situation. So he seethed, muttering curses under his breath. Fucking, damnit. He wanted to hit something now, and he ended up throwing things and breaking one of his table stands, and shattering a vase with dead flowers in it. From a past fling who thought it necessary to apologize with flowers. Well, now that he was sitting on his bed he realized it didn't fix things, and now he was more ticked off that he had to clean it all up. It didn't lessen his rage toward the loyal Abnegation girl, either.

Maybe he was taking it out on his trainees, he thought anyway, as he dropped one of them and held a gun to their head. He hadn't been exactly pleasant to people, despite his therapeutic advances, after that night she used him. Even though she promised not to. He scoffed to himself and twisted the kid up to his feet, holstering his gun and ordering another to get in the ring with him. This was more of a challenge, he counted three good blows before he switched techniques, and brought the boy to the ground.

He was still a pessimist, a sarcastic asshole, malicious and sadistic, but he wasn't exactly doing the bull shit he used to. He was reminded of this when he ran into his old Candor associate, Christina. She tried to speak to him as little as possible and avoided eye contact. She seemed to want to get the interaction over with. He remembered seeing her at the wedding.

"How is she?"

"What?"

"Tris Prior, Eaton, whatever," He huffed, Christina raised an eyebrow, pressed her lips together like a duck and he felt like smacking her. Then her eyes flicked behind him, over his shoulder and she responded with, "I haven't seen her for a while, besides, even if I had I wouldn't tell you. Why do you care anyway? You two hate each other,"

"Yeah, whatever, thanks for nothing bitch," He smirked at her, shaking his head. She took it the way he intended and she smirked and scoffed at him, at least she was able to grasp that he of all people was capable of change. But still, her statement bothered him, for many reasons, he did hate her, or he used to, wasn't it still the same if he was capable of getting so pissed at her? On another note, what the fuck was that about her best friend not seeing her around? It wasn't a lie, Christina wasn't in the fashion of lying to people, even him. So something was up.

She showed up at his room, a defeated look on her face, and a ring still on her finger. He was holding groceries and she was standing at his door, staring at it like she had nothing better to do. Confusion was his first feeling, as it had been nearly a month since their get together, but then it was frustration and annoyance. Still he opened his door and let her in, and put his food away. She sat on his couch again, staring at the wall, a vacant look in her eye. He knew that look, it was a haunting one, one of bottled pain and a silenced tongue, of a scolding that went too far. He'd seen it on his mother's face, he'd seen it on the faces of those he wronged in the past. Still, he was pissed at her, and getting fucking angry was better than struggling to stay calm.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"You let me in," She mumbled to him.

"Because you were standing in front of my door, zombified, so what the fuck are you doing here Tris?"

"I…" She couldn't find the words, and she looked down, just enough that her put up hair revealed something he thought he'd not see on her ever again after initiation. A bruise snaked around her neck, and up to the base of her skull. Who the fuck kicked her ass? It was the first time he saw her injured that wasn't caused specifically by him or accidentally, and it made him wary. "Have sex with me,"

"No,"

"What?"

"No," He huffed, glaring at her glossy tired eyes, "I'm not touching you,"

"Why?" She demanded, getting angry, "Fallen out of love with me have you? Or have you gotten what you wanted all along so you're no longer interested?!"

"Shut the fuck up for once Tris," He snapped, glaring at her and pulling out a hang nail that made his thumb start bleeding. She stilled, and teared up, staring at him in shock and in fear. He used to find pleasure in that look, in the way her lips parted, and her eyes went wide, now it made him sick. "You're not the type of person to use other's feelings against them, and now that you're trying, you're sucking ass at it," He started, making her coil into herself. "Second, when have you ever depended on me to get you pleasure? Where's your fucking husband in all this?" He hissed at her, letting it all off his chest, yelling at her was better than wanting to hit something and scare her. "You're only here because you're running away from something, I know that much, but you don't run away from things that scare you so I'm guessing it's the thing that gave you those bruises, and I'm the only place you know of, you have your friends you know," She said nothing to him, biting her lip to silence herself as he continued, "And what happened to you? Jesus Tris, coming here and demanding that I sleep with you? Where's your dignity? Fuck, the girl I know would never-"

"Well the girl you know is gone, Peter!" She screamed at him, "I have my dignity, plenty of it you selfish sack of shit, and don't you even start about me running away from my problems when you got rid of yours in the dark with a fucking butter knife!"

"Still onto that aren't you? Can't learn to let things go? Say you will and then don't really? Never took you for a liar, Tris,"

"You nearly fucking killed me!"

"Don't you think that if I wanted to I would have by now?!" He shouted, and she stopped, frozen on the couch and her hands balled into fists. He probably deserved to be hit for saying what he had already, and for what he was about to say, "Having sex with you wasn't enough for me okay? So get your fucking head out of your ass, and yeah, I am still in love with you, cry about it why don't you? And if you think about it Tris, I could have had you any way I wanted when you decided to lie and use me, I could have killed you and been done with fucking dealing with dying every time I'm around you! I'm the selfish sack of shit? Look in the Goddamned mirror Tris, I'm not some thing you just fuck around with and then sweep it under the rug. Now I agreed to having sex with you because I was stupid and thought nothing of it, but you being here for seconds isn't good for you,"

"Who are you to say what's good for me?" She demanded, and he took two steps, and closed the gap, his hand wrapping around her wrist and lifting her from her place, his other hand nearly ripping her shirt off as he dragged her to the mirror, the colorful canvas of her body littered in greens and blues and dark purples, some yellows. She started crying, and he said calmer than he thought he felt.

"Why are you here, Tris?"

"I need to get out,"

"Of what,"

"Away from him," She mumbled, not meeting his eyes. It took him a moment to understand the depth of it, and once he did, hot searing rage shot through him like a white flash of pure electricity. Oh that son of a bitch, he was going to murder Four. He released her and took one step, but she pulled him back with impressive force and screamed.

"If you go he'll know I told you!"

"You can't just tell me that and expect me to sit here Tris!"

"He'll kill you, he'll kill us both Peter,"

"Goddammit!" He yelled thrashing and hitting the wall, again, fuck he really needed to stop doing that. He left the room after she sobbed, and he furiously made something to eat, and he crashed on the couch. He can't stand to be around her right now, much less deal with her being there, crying over her abusive husband. It pissed him off, and it was more drama than what he needed. She can go deal with her own demons if she's so worried about Four and what he might do.

He woke to her being there, in fact on top of him, straddling him in one of his button downs, one that he had bought that was white, one that she wore loosely around her, buttons undone, only in her panties. He shut his eyes, sighing and leaning his head back, fully aware of his twitching friend in his pants. If this was a dream, he swore he'd do things to her in the morning. But she rolled her hips, sliding the head of his cock down the crevasse that melted between her legs, and he groaned, arching up and bucking his hips slowly. He did not ever in his right mind, expect to wake like this, to the girl he was once obsessed with. Oh Fuck, please do it again. She kissed his neck, and down his collar, her breasts brushing his bare skin, her hips still rolling, pressing down on him.

His hands were on her and his eyes were open, brows slightly furrowed as he looked at her, she bit her lip and smiled. He sighed, "You think this is funny, don't you?"

"Well, someone agrees with me," She mumbled in a sultry tone, one that drove heat down his spine, he took in a breath. Her fingertips teased where his blood rushed, pulling down the sweats he commonly wore to sleep, her teeth finding her lip again as her eyes fluttered, able to view all his glory without being pounded. He bit back a moan when she skillfully took him in her palm, her tongue brushing the head, twirling around it, her ass in the air. He sat up on his forearms, wanting to watch her, and he did, as her perfect lips closed around him, and took him to her fullest. "Fuuuck," He moaned to her, wanting to reach out and grab her hair, to help her with the remaining inches.

Her hands snaked up his body, caressing his skin and he held back a buck as she swallowed. His hand wove into her messy hair, pushing and pulling gently as she bobbed her head, eventually getting her to loosen some and take more. She froze, swallowing and swirling her tongue, he tensed and hissed at her as she pulled all the way off, her lips popping and her tongue cleaning some of his sticky mess. He hadn't come, so he wondered what she had planned exactly. Then she crawled on top of him, and he sat up a bit more, taking hold of her, mindful of her bruises. "Tell me," She began, "Do I please you?"

"Fuck, yes Tris,"

"Do you like the way I feel?"

"Tris, please,"

"Please what?" She teased, wiggling her clit against the head of his cock, making her bite her lip at him. He growled, a low sound that vibrated his chest and made her eyes narrow in delight. "I will fuck you, until you can't walk, unless you slide that pretty little pussy of yours, down," He huffed at her, brushing his nose up her neck, his lips, and he gently licked her pulse point, effectively making her shiver. She grinned, fingers knotting into his hair, her thighs trembling as he all but ripped them off her. She did as he asked, and they got lost, or at least he did, his mind floating elsewhere as she took control of the situation, only kissing her until they had to pant, until they were moaning and trembling, until she put her arms around him and held him as she came undone. She withered, still riding him, and he surprised himself by holding her about her lower back, how he moaned into her skin, how he bucked and spilled inside of her.

She held his hand after that, when she came down, when he was still trying to wrap his head around the thought of her. It was real, that much was easy to say. She leaned down, resting her forehead on his, brushing their noses and smiling, leaning down to kiss him, his hand snaking up into her hair, kissing her harder. He didn't want it to end, even after their tongues met and swirled, until they fluctuate through clashing passion, to domination, to something that bordered mutual feelings. But he stopped, rubbing his nose to hers, holding her close, grinning at the socks she wore, and her lack of clothing aside from her retrieved undergarments and his shirt. He was the one to tell her.

"I can't keep doing this,"

"Why not?"

"It isn't right,"

"What isn't? Us having sex? That's just fine,"

"I'm in love with you Tris, and you aren't with me," He began, "You're also married to another man, this isn't good for you,"

"Maybe you should stop worrying about what's good for me," She suggested, crossing her arms on his chest and resting her chin on her arm, tilting her head and staring at him. Hurricane eyes sated but boring into his own serpentine green, narrowing. She was daring him to speak against it, and he took it, "Someone's got to if you wont,"

"You're acting like I'm incapable of taking care of myself,"

"Are you? I mean, you're laying on me in my apartment, after having sex with me,"

"Shut up," She grumbled to him, closing her eyes. They went quiet after that, his thumb idly rubbing along every rib beside her breast. She broke out into bumps on her skin, her lips curling at the corners, "That tickles,"

"Does it?" He asked, hiding his glee. Her eyes shot open, "Peter, don't-" And then she was attacked, under the mercy of his fingers as he jabbed and skimmed and wriggled them against her ribs and sides, and she squirmed. Oh like a droplet of water about to fall, squealing and giggling under his onslaught. "Peter! Peter stop!" She kept laughing, and eventually she was on her back, and he was between her legs, and he was biting those areas teasingly when she got serious, "Peter," She still giggled, "Seriously, stop,"

"If you say please,"

"Pleaaaaase!" She drew out, as his skilled fingers made her tremble again. Then his lips were on hers, and it was almost like he had what he wanted, like he had her. Finally like she wasn't going anywhere, like she didn't belong to someone else, as though she were out of harm, and he was better, and they were okay. But then he had to ruin it, "I didn't say that just to expend air, Tris,"

"So you're really in love with me?" She huffed,

"I came from Candor,"

"That doesn't say much, you were a conniving jerk,"

"Oh fuck Tris, you _really_ know how to compliment someone,"

"It's the truth!"

"And what I'm saying isn't?" He put in seriously, he hated the look that crossed her face. One of sadness and regret and remorse, as if she'd seen something awful that made her in disgust with the world, that made her frown as though she couldn't help him while he grieved. He sighed, and got off her, walking towards his room and picking up her clothes, and donning some of his own. He freshened up and gave her the belongings that were strewn about his room, and tried not to think too much about the look of fear and agony on her face. A long time ago, he would have celebrated eliciting that look from her face with a full tab of whiskey to make him forget. A long time ago, he would have taken advantage of her confliction, to get her to do something she didn't want. But wasn't it the same thing? What he was doing now, she had used him in the beginning as an escape from her cheating husband, so wasn't it right that he got revenge? His gut twisted, and he felt sick. No it wasn't right.

"What if I _was_ in love with you?"

"But you aren't," He replied, looking at her as he gave her some water,

"You don't know that,"

"I know you,"

"How could you possibly know me, Peter?" She hissed, upset that she was being denied. He sighed at her, looking down at his nails and deciding not to pick at them as he spoke, "When you're nervous, brought attention to something you don't want a part in, you ball your fists and curl into yourself, you grow quiet and your face shuts down. When you're excited or about to say something bad and you stop yourself, you bite your lip to contain the outburst. Your brows furrow when you're confused, and they raise when someone's done something really fucking stupid and you can't believe it. You avoid eye contact when you're uncomfortable, which is when you're confronted, or attention is on you. You don't like crowds, in fact, it's near suffocating for you-"

"Stop," She huffed, eyes now a furious glare, "You've proven your point,"

"Then I would know if you love me or not,"

"What if it isn't about love? What about forgiveness? Can't you be selfless or selfish and keep me here?"

"No,"

"Why?"

"I told you, it's not right or good for you. God, Tris get it in your thick head, no means no,"

"Well maybe if you weren't such an asshole about it you'd understand what I'm getting at,"

"There's nothing to _get at_ , I know you better than you know yourself,"

"You spent all that time knowing me when you know nothing of your wants,"

"Oh I understand my wants," He hissed, "Let me tell you one of them. Right now, I want you to get dressed, and get the fuck out of my place," She tensed at first, glaring hate at him before she dressed slowly, dropping his button down, and pulling on the clothes she wore yesterday. Her face numb and blank when she faced him again, and she walked up to him, "You're right, Peter, I don't love you, I hate you. Or maybe it's both. But you're wrong, you don't love me." She met his eyes, tearing up, "How can you love someone, when you're incapable of loving yourself?" She turned, and he grabbed her wrist, very gently but enough to stop her. She didn't face him, he didn't think she could at the moment.

"I love myself enough to love you, to let you go back to the man you married," She huffed a laugh and left him standing there. Slamming his own door in his face.


	4. Chapter 4

He was gone doing raids on Factionless organizations, he was gone putting them in their place, settling things between faction leaders and representatives. He was gone, patrolling the fence, taking a break from her, it was what she needed, and what he needed. She was a distraction, one that he wanted to fucking destroy to shoot between the eyes, to watch her scream out in agony, one that he also wanted to worship. That he wanted to give the world to. But he was out on the farms outside of their city, and yes, he was gone long enough that things had changed, and he had not made any other appointments to better fix himself. He dwindled between the areas of sanity and good consciousness, he needed to get his head straight, for his squad which had gone with him, taken leave for the 6 months away from their families and friends. It was good, and as long as he had a gun in his hands he was going to be okay.

Amity women were grateful for protection, and very handsy, he found. Once he and his men returned to the peace and love giving faction. A sick smirk came onto his face when one danced, as they were being treated to dinner. She was swaying and convulsing and shaking her hips, rolling them seductively as she eyed him. Sick images of her moaning as he gripped her throat and finished, it made him smirk at her.

She was on him later that night, had dragged him from the party and convinced him to fuck her against a tree. Never done before, but she was mewling like nothing else, and it was encouragement, but the pitch was off and her skin was rough like leather, she didn't know his name, but she let him fuck her until her throat was raw and her legs were jelly. He left her there, not wanting to hide a body if he got handsy with her.

They returned to Dauntless compound in the beginnings of the 7th month, spring turning to summer, and kids preparing now more than ever for their aptitude test. There was a party, he was congratulated on his endeavors, and then he was left to drink by himself. He wasn't into drinking as much anymore, but he found himself by the chasm, whiskey glass in hand and a girl on his mind. How was she doing? It was a year, since she had been married, and over half since he saw her. Would it matter though? He made himself clear the last time they spoke, and she had as well. A visit wouldn't be disastrous, they could just chat, become friends instead of enemies, instead of fuck buddies while he was stuck on her like glue. He was partially over her now, it _had_ been a long time.

After mulling over it for nearly a week, he approached Eric, who gave the room number and a curious look. He marched, fists clenched at his sides and the pad of his thumb rubbing over his nails, checking if they were uneven. They were perfect, untouched, scared yes, but he hadn't picked at himself for nearly 4 months. He lifted his hand, pausing, was this what he really wanted to do? If he had fallen in love with her once, who's to say he won't again? He knocked, loudly, and it resounded through the hall.

The handle turned, and the face of Four was revealed. Four looked different, not that he had ever paid attention to the older man. He had scars on his cheek, like someone had taken a knife and tried to carve up to his eye, and take it out. It was a strange thing to see really, his past instructor looking more messed up than he was on active duty. He wondered briefly if Four had gotten the scar while he was gone, not that he truly cared. He wasn't there to see Four. But he tried to be less suspicious and pulled the polite card.

"Four, good afternoon,"

"Peter, what can I do for you?"

"Is Tris here?" There was a slight twitch, it was his brow and the corner of his lip. A twitch that represented a switch being flipped, and a current state of mind was now on an offensive stance, one that would have been hidden, if he had control over what his eyes gave away. He stiffened for a moment, as did Four, who pulled an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes and opened the door.

The apartment was messier than what he would have expected for two former Abnegation members. Four gave him a look, one that was predatory, one that was the split second warning of a guard dog who watched as you stepped onto its owner's property.

"Wait here,"

He stood, hands resting over his belt in front of him, eyes picking up signs of distress, of accidents as the wood beneath his feet was scratched, and the carpet under the coffee table was stained. Papers were littered about the coffee table, and the blanket on the couch was unfolded and messily strewn over the armrest. The door to their room opened, and he stood straighter, fixing the expression on his face. It was hard to keep it that way, she was a mess.

"Peter, I didn't know you were back,"

"I got back a week ago, how have you been,"

"Great," She chirped, flashing a quick smile before grimacing as her husband put an arm around her. Big eyes boring into him as a cry for help, a plead for mercy, a beg for him to be her savior. He shifted, looking Four in the eye for a moment before returning his attention to her.

"You free? I'd like to have lunch and talk,"

"I-"

"We have plans, actually, that start in a few minutes," Four interrupted, squaring his shoulders and pressing his lips to his wife's temple, glaring nearly at him. Images of Four tied down to the chair used to administer the aptitude test flashed through his mind, him standing over Four's writhing and struggling bleeding body, of him yelling out and flinching every time he did something. He smiled at Four, the twisted one that pulled the left corner of his mouth more, that seemed like a sneer as he raised his eyebrows.

"We're just friends, Four, can't we go out? I've been deployed a long time, and she's really the only person that can put up with me," Four frowned, staring hard at the serpentine eyed man for longer than a few moments, his mind piecing things together when he had already pulled Four's weakness from his feet.

"Be back by 6, have fun," Four finally said, nearly shoving his wife forward as he retreated into his room. Her eyes wide and lips parted at the man who may have either saved her from punishment, or granted reason for a more elevated one.

His apartment was cold, and she didn't sit on the couch this time. Her feet made her wander to his kitchen, to pull out cooking utensils. Her thin long fingers gripping onto a bowl she pulled from a cabinet, her palm holding one of his nicer cooking knives like an extension of herself, with grace and poise she maneuvered through his kitchen and excavated his fridge for ingredients.

They were having chicken parmesan, apparently, something he knew well, knew of her actions as soon as her fingers touched the parsley and basil among the horde of ingredients she collected. He remembered his sister being passionate about cooking, and the dish the former Abnegation girl was preparing was one of her favorites to cook. It was when he realized she hadn't said anything for nearly 40 minutes, that he decided to invade her personal space, to meld through the walls she had stacked miles high. She froze, as she reached up for a plate, his body pressing to hers, pushing her to the counter, and his hand pulling her soft silk like blonde hair from her face.

She spun very quickly, plate forgotten and tears in her eyes, ones of rage and abandonment, of fear and hate. She trembled under his soft gaze, her hands clenching and unclenching and her teeth snagging her scabbed lip, cheeks heating as the tears slowly fell. She wasn't happy with him, and had much to say about it.

"You selfish son of a bitch," She mumbled to him in her broken voice, "You have some nerve,"

"I know, and I'm sorry," He said to her, looking as her expression softened into one of sorrow and longing, of pain, of deep sadness. He moved closer, standing between her legs and pressing his stomach nearly to hers, hand softly holding her chin before she turned her head away, "Where were you, Peter?" She demanded, shaking with emotion.

"Deployed,"

"You left me,"

"I thought it didn't matter," He mumbled carelessly, and his cheek exploded with pain, white flashing his sight before heat rushed to his face. She had slapped him, "Of course it fucking mattered Peter! You left me here alone! Do have _any idea_ how it feels to be touched by a man who repulses you? To be beaten?! I don't even love him! You stole that from me! And you left me…" She mumbles the last bit, eyes narrowed and lips twitching into a frown as the tears rushed down her face. "You left me," She whispered again, staring at him as he stared at the ground in shame. He looked at her, after a moment, wetting his lips and taking in her rough face, her sharp jaw, high cheekbones, sculpted eyebrows, perfect eyes, the gentle slope of her pointed nose, and her red cheeks.

A new sensation was born, one that rivaled the stinging on his cheek as her hands tugged at his hair and her lips crashed against his. Quick to respond, his own arms wrapped around her waist, their tongues meeting and a sound escaping her as he lifted her onto the counter.

"I missed you," He told her, pulling her close as they kissed with a new kind of fierce. She responded with a huff of a noise that bordered a laugh and a moan, her fingers tightening in his dark hair, legs widening as his hand pressed against her tailbone. They had hours, he had to remind himself when she pressed herself harder against him, her body practically vibrating for him. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, huffing softly against her lips as she panted, pulling air to her oxygen deprived lungs. Her eyes locked on him though they were half lidded, pupils dilated and her lips glossy. Want, was the look on her face, and it might have been the same on his own, he didn't doubt the desire for her was obvious on his face too.

He couldn't help but wonder if he was allowed to say that, to feel such a longing for her when it was only sex for her. Wondered why it was always her, on his mind, fueling his ambition. Wondered why. What was it that she had that drew him like a moth to a flame? What was it about her in the way she spoke that made him question everything he once thought to be true? She was bewitching, and he was enamored by her, by her subtle movements when she cooked, how she swayed to her own music. Captivated by her laughter, by her shy smile. He was completely hooked on that look in her eye, the emotion he saw when she was in his company, the one that made him warm.

Was he allowed to confess his inner demons? The angels that fought and tumbled, the ones that ruled his body when he was with her, the ones that told him what was good and what wasn't. Would she listen to him? Listen to his soul as he poured it for her, emptying himself just for her, and her wild hurricane eyes? He wasn't an insecure person, not at all, but with the way she made him feel, he found himself doubting more than himself and his original feelings for her.

Affection was new to him, he wasn't about all that holding hands in public shit, or holding her every night. He wouldn't do cute things with her, or give her flowers, he wouldn't go to couples only parties and he would be extremely possessive of her. Among other things, those were a few traits she might have looked for in someone, he wasn't one to go out of his way. And that made him worry in the slightest.

If it was affection that she was looking for, she was in the wrong place. He was in love with her, sure, fuck he'd murder for her and probably die in the process of the massacre but he wouldn't nuzzle her on the couch, or at least, not on his own. He did things in his own interest, and she had to have known that, coming to his place, having sex with him, fucking with his emotions. But if she did know him through and through like he hoped she'd have picked up on by now, what was she here for?

Her thumb rubbed along his cheekbone, her other hand threading into his hair and pulling him closer. She sighed against his skin, his arms encircling her tighter, squeezing her small body, he didn't care. Even if it was just fucking to her, he would do it, even if he was an escape and she hated the thought of loving him, or having any sort of relationship outside of fucking, he would do it just so he could inhale her honey spice, he would do it so he got the chance to be with her even if briefly for a few moments. He couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want, well, he could, but he no longer wanted to. And that was the real difference.

He drew back from her, a sober look on his face, aside from looking tired. It had been a long deployment, even if he was glad to go at the beginning, having her back within his grasp was so much fucking better than even the highest hippie. He leaned in, and kissed her lips slowly, feeling her flinch and her breath hitch as he softly melded his lips to hers, pecking along her cheek slowly at his own leisurely pace. She smiled, and he pulled from her completely, watching at a mischievous glint flashed through her eyes.

"What'd you miss about me?"

"That quick tongue of yours absolutely," He huffed sarcastically, grinning at the shocked expression that washed over her recovering tear stained cheeks. She kicked her legs, glancing at the food before asking yet again.

"Really, Peter, I want to know,"

"Of course you do,"

"Is it bad? Were you just saying that?"

"You want to hear all the romantic shit I could tell you?"

"Actually, now that you say so, sure," She pretended to think for a moment, staring at him and smiling as he reached above her head and leaned in, slowly and quietly pulling dishes down as he mumbled low in her ear.

"I missed those delectable rose petal lips of yours, and your smell, how you laugh, and the melody of your voice even when you yell at me," Her eyes fluttered closed and he smirked, "Missed your ass too, by the way,"

"Peter!" She laughed and pushed him playfully, he smirked and set the retrieved plates down, right next to the glasses. Did she know that she was irresistible? Did she know how much power she had over him, and her own life? Was she aware of her own strength, of the properties of her soul? Could she even hope to grasp the allure that every chemical her body produced? He doubted it, how she was so calm one minute and like a monsoon the next.

They ate her food in a peaceful way, exchanging idle comments and stories that had transpired in his absence. He learned that Erudite was now allowing former Abnegation members into the faction, from others. Which meant Tris could visit her brother and not worry about becoming factionless according to rules she'd already broken once before. He also learned that through the year of her marriage with Four, Eric had become part of her friend circle, much to her husband's disapproval, and much to his own shock. It wasn't that Eric was just as much an asshole as him, but he had way more baggage, and to be friends with your nemesis's wife was something along the lines of taboo. Still, he grinned because the thought of them being anywhere within five feet of each other was an interesting picture.

In return for her life story he told her what he could about the outside of the walls, about the factions she'd never been in, like Candor and Amity. He left out the few women he had sexual endeavors with, but told her about visiting his sister instead. She seemed to love the idea, and proudly remarked how wonderful it would be to go. The thought hit him then like a rock to the temple, here they were, sitting at his table across from each other, eating a dinner that she prepared and talking of the simple things in life. As though she wasn't married, wasn't being beaten, like they were instead together. It was a mundane thought that made him smile with elation, but terrified him to no end. How could he have thoughts like that about her when to her it was only ever sex?

He shouldn't torture himself hoping that she'd fucking change her mind, that she'd leave the piece of shit husband of hers, that she'd want to be with him instead. Hate was a strong word, one that she tossed out freely when it came to him, so how did he pull mixed emotions from the fury he saw on her face more often times than not? Was it because he thought her rage to be oddly attractive, that when she pushed and antagonized and instigated fights or arguments she was the most exotic most alluring thing he'd ever seen? Wasn't all that the base of lust and longing though? Because if it was, how could he tie in the deep want to keep her at his side? How could he justify the need to hear her voice, to see her shy smile, or watch her body shake as she laughed from her heart? His mind couldn't come up with an answer, because it was used to pain, he was used to pain. It was an intimate relationship, really, one that was always to be a part of him and confuse the simplest pleasures with jaded selfishness, someone always wanted something, and he was convinced of that. Always an ulterior motive behind everything.


	5. Chapter 5

She wasn't often seductive. He didn't ever see her that way, he was always the one to initiate any primal feelings into a woman, or more specifically, her. It was hard to come up with a reason as to why it was always like that, as she stripped before him, her body deliciously shaped like an hourglass, but not grossly so. There was something about the orange and gold glow from the window, the way it hit her body and highlighted the curve of her stomach, the gently jutted hip bones that were framed by her panties. Something about the setting sun that colored her skin that set something alight in him that made him warm, that made his desire for her leap forth.

In the moment she removed her shirt, he no longer understood why white was the color of innocence, there was nothing innocent about the milk colored cloth on her, how it adorned a fine lace, and was made up of a thin silk texture. It should be the color of seduction, of temptation, of that drive to dominate and claim, because he nearly lost himself when she straddled him, pressing her hardening buds to his chest, crushing her breasts against him lightly as her already soaking core rubbed up to his twitching member.

She might have missed him as much as he did her, in their months apart, because her pace was agonizingly slow, but perfect. He hated how it teased him, how she would keep him from bucking too hard or from rolling over and taking her in a ravel of passion he never wanted her to forget. But he loved how he was able to feel every part of her, how unrushed it was, how much time and opportunity it gave them to kiss, and whisper sweet nothings in part moans.

In the back of his mind, he screamed that this was anything but a good fuck, anything but the single act of sex and selfish pleasure. His body knew it was something more, in the way she whispered his name, or moaned out for God when he rolled his hips at her pace with her. When he touched her, she shivered. When he kissed her she melted like putty in his hands. And when he skimmed the pads of his fingertips along her smooth skin, he got the most beautiful smile from her. It was more than sex now.

He rolled them after she trembled, after she moaned his name loudly and froze her motions on him. He had forgotten how good she felt, how soft her smooth skin was under his calloused touch, the sweet but slightly savory taste of her skin under his tongue, her sweet and heavy smell of desire and pleasure. He forgot the sensations of the humming electricity that buzzed between them, whenever they made contact in the way their bodies rubbed in sync together. The heat that moved around them, that coated their skin in a thin sheen of sweat, that pooled in the most delicious areas, the built up pressure that ensured a gentle shove, that pulled him over into the unknown he dared never to go before as she cried out his name.

She thanked him, afterward, which struck him as odd because she'd never done that before. He shot her a curious look, taking in the shirt she wore and her wet hair, she had just stepped out of his shower. He wanted to ask her to stay, because she shouldn't be thanking him for that, not when to her it was just sex. He wanted to give her something to thank him about, because the idea of being grateful for pleasure struck him as odd when it should have been a good enough experience for the both of them. Or was it simply an old Abnegation trait that never left her? Was he simply over thinking everything?

The sway of her body pulled his attention, and then her lips were on his, and his hand wove into her wet silky hair. She smelt of soap, and her ever lingering honey and cinnamon spice, and she tasted like sweetened creme. His arm draped around her and pulled her closer, allowing her body to station above him, on his lap yet again. Part of him never wanted to let her go, let her walk back out that door, perhaps in fear that he may not see her again. The last time she walked out his door she slammed it in his face, a memory he wanted to forget, he didn't feel the same about the look on her face, not the way he once did. Now that twisted agony and hateful look made his heart plummet to his feet with a sickening slap.

Her soft hands cupped his face and she kissed him slower, smiling against his lips. What reason did her mind supply to smile? When she was now faced with returning to a man who terrified her. And what could he do about it to give her some peace of mind, not that he may end up any better with her than what Four did. Who's to say he won't revert back to the sadistic and sick person he was once he's finally gotten her, and no longer has a drive to change for the better when there's nothing to strive for?

Since when had he become such a wary person? So fucking afraid of everything? Was she right, a year ago at her wedding, when she assumed he was really afraid inside? Was fear the underlying force behind his bouts of rage and pain? He pulled back from the kiss, prying his eyes open in the slightest to catch the peaceful look on her face; to trace the gentle slope of her brows to her nose, to the soft curve of her cheeks to her eye sockets, her long uncharacteristically dark lashes that brushed her cheeks when she had her eyes closed. Did she know how stunning she was?

How had a creature such as her fallen into the path of pain and hate, and distrust, into a hardening shell of soldier like proportion? How could a soul like hers survive here, in a harsh place where she was taught to kill, where he had once nearly attempted to do? Her eyes fluttered open, and her irises locked on his face, creating a ghostly contrast between fog rolling alongside ships, lapping at the steel and flowing over board with the waves, and the sky before the hellish sounds of thunder rained down upon the earth. Stunning wasn't a strong enough word for the piece of art that completed her.

Four was halfway through a bottle of Jack when she returned to the apartment, her movements stiff and cautious. She didn't look at her husband, or at him as she walked into the kitchen to make dinner. Four was borderline unpleasant, but still sluggishly polite in his own hissing through teeth way towards his guest, who left shortly after dropping Four's wife off.

Their interactions came to a slower halt, and he realized that she no longer opted to have sex with him. Instead it was a casual surprise sometime in the mid-day, or late at night long after the bars have opened and the pit shops have closed. They would just sit on his couch and talk about small things which would branch off to amused smiles and ridiculous laughter shared between them. The conversations weren't as personal as he originally assumed they would and part of him was grateful for it, he didn't think he could handle being grilled by the girl he loved about his sickest thoughts.

He didn't think he'd ever be able to tell her about his inner experiences, or the dreams he rushed through on the hunt for some poor soul that he slaughtered in the end. He wouldn't ever admit that she was right, that over the few months that he had been back from that nearly year long deployment, that he realized he really was afraid of his capabilities, of losing control of himself when his mind demanded it. He tried his best to take in everything she had to offer, and kept his haunting thoughts to himself.

It was somewhere around the 5th month he had been back did she show up at his place looking distraught, sitting on his couch staring at her gifted key card to enter his apartment. Her fingers idly traced along the smoothed edges of the card as he entered his place. He could have described the face as concerned, or worried, but her silence spoke more to him than what her body did, and he knew something was up.

She looked up at him when he stood before her, a curious look on his face. Then she wet her lips and took in a deep breath.

"We need to talk,"

"You know those four words are like the end of the world for guys right?" He earned a slight tug of her lips before that strange emotion filled her eyes again. She patted his couch next to her and let him sit and get comfortable. It was hard, considering the vibes he was getting from her, the unease in his stomach, and how rigid his muscles were. He watched as her eyes locked onto an indescript area on his coffee table, as her fingers laced and unlaced and her thumb idly rubbed her wedding band. Then she bit her lip and sucked in a breath.

"I think I'm pregnant."

His heart dropped, and his eyes widened. Cold washed over the surface of his skin while electricity jolted up his spine to the base of his skull. The feeling of thousands of spiders crawling along every inch of his skin made him tense up. She was what? He started breathing again when she let a tear fall down her cheek. It took him a moment to understand the severity of the situation, they were both 20 years old now, a baby wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. But then the question rang, whose was it? His fingers twitched and he tried not to pull himself away from her, to be there for her, but the shock was eating away at his judgement, and he rose to his feet. His eyes locked on her, watching as she struggled not to cry. But then he took in another breath, and covered his eyes, and took in another deep breath, and another, and another. No use getting worked up over nothing, right? She said she thinks she is, right?

"Are you sure?"

"There are signs, I've been having symptoms," She whispered, his mind raced, when was the last time they had sex? He couldn't remember the exact date, was it a week ago? Or more than that? He stared at her, watching her collapse into herself, shut down like a computer. She wasn't a machine, and she sure as hell wasn't going to fucking shut down on him now, not when she might have a baby inside of her. He was kneeling in front of her, taking her small hands in his, looking at her far away blank face.

"Tris? Hey, can you come back to me?" She blinked and looked at him, lips pressed together for a moment, her body lurching before she started sobbing. His arms fell around her as she crumpled up like a ball of paper, body jerking with each powerful huff of air, her lungs stuttering as she drew in a long painful breath as she tried to choke out,

"It-t-t mi-ght bee youuurs," His mind rushed, and he grew uneasy again, his skin growing hot and his blood running cold, how was it his in her eyes? Hadn't she slept with her husband within the time she found out? How exactly did she find out?

"Did you take the test?" She shook her head against him, eyes squeezed shut as he held back a huge sigh of carbon dioxide. He took in her scent when his nose brushed her hairline, messy tendrils teasing his cheeks as he held her closer.

"We should check the clinic and get some tests for you, before you start flipping your shit, Tris,"

"Are you upset with me?" She whispered, her voice steadier that way, fingers squeezing his jacket. Clinging to him as if he would run away from her, nails nearly scraping into his back through the fabric. Why did she think he was angry with her? Because it was unexpected? Because they were having an affair? Would Four have been angry? Sure this may have been unplanned or perhaps an accident caused by either of the men, but she should have known he wouldn't be upset with her, unless she didn't know him. Who's to say she didn't get knocked up by her husband and wanted him to take care of her instead, or drop the child on him? He tried not to get angry with her, he really did, but that thought instilled rage and hurt and distrust and he pulled away from her like hot metal to skin.

Her expression was filled with dread and confusion, her lips wet and soft from her teeth sinking into them. Her cheeks were red and puffy and her eyes were no different, she was done, and he shouldn't have said what he did say next.

"Who's is it?"

"I don't know," She whispered to him, and it made him all the more upset. Fuck how could he have been so stupid? She used him, fucking again! He stepped away from her, his face contorting into one of anger and she froze up.

"Peter-"

"Don't you fucking _Peter_ , me Tris!" She blinks, her fear forgotten as her lips pull into a quick drawn snarl, "What is _up_ with you Peter?" A hot and uncomfortable feeling rushes through him, one that he knew drove the grin he got every time he pulled the trigger to his rifle, the rush he felt when he watched the skull snapback, and the body he stole life from just fell to the ground. He didn't know how he became angry enough to associate death and his glee of bringing it in his wake, to the accusations his mind came up with. What was up with him? Was she really asking that of him? Did she think he didn't know? Why was she still playing with him? He was done, that much he knew, he was fucking done with her shit. It was why he nearly exploded.

"What's up with me? You're fucking playing me Tris! I'm not going to be your baby daddy! You're escape from life- go back to your fucking husband, you know, the man you swore monogamy to?"

"What _is wrong_ with you?" She held back a furious yell in her throat, her hands clenching and eyes narrowing angrily at him. He wanted her to blow up, the more he had time to think about what to say about the situation, the more aggravated he got. He couldn't handle the stress of a baby when all it is between them is hot sex and no exchange of vows or simple words of adoration. He refused to believe that the child was his and that she had intentions only of springing the news onto him, he wouldn't accept that. Not with the thought of her abandonment of him and her fucking child so she could play the loyal Abnegation housewife with her husband. It was all a load of bull shit, and he was tired of letting it hit the fan. She was at this point anything but loyal, and now with the idea of a child around his single person apartment, it was all fucking ridiculous.

He wanted to shake some of the sense she lost into her, wanted to show her the cruel and shameful reality of it all. Her treachery against her husband no matter what happened behind the closed doors of her husband's apartment. Of the consequences of her continuous actions, she had no means of supporting a family if she let herself get smacked around. How would she protect her child? He shook with anger and hissed at her, taking a step forward as his mind snapped to a conclusion. She was so fucking clueless it seemed, so he'd have to inform her of the reality. His hand closed around her wrist and locked, his eyes burning with bitterness and intensity, so much that he made her yelp as he tightened his grip on her wrist.

He watched as her lips parted and her knees nearly buckled beneath her, eyes widening with fear and shock before pain shot through her expression, her face contorting as panic became her coursing blood. Her hand flew to his own arm, a shout falling from her lips,

"Peter! You're hurting me!" He shook her, glaring hard at her, because he knew she suffered worse beatings, had gone through worse. He had been the one to deal that pain on her. Yet she was complaining and squealing about it now? His nails dug into the soft flesh under her wrist making her whimper and nearly fall to her knees away from him.

"Peter-"

"Good!" Her eyes widened and she froze, caught again in his carefully woven web of cunning. He ripped her off the couch, where she had fallen in her struggle to pull away from his grip, and yanked her to his chest, his other hand gripping her upper arm. He yelled at her, even though he shouldn't have, there were other ways to resolve this incident, to get her to wake up, to vent his anger, but he chose to yell. "Wake the fuck up Tris! What if you are pregnant? What are you going to do with the baby?" She didn't have an answer, her face frozen in fear and shock, "You sure as hell aren't going to leave it with me! And don't you fucking think for a second that raising a child with that husband of yours is a great idea, he'll drive the both of you to your graves. Can you even support a child? Can you protect one? You can't if you aren't able to do either for yourself! Maybe before you come crying to me, you should do some growing up, because I'm tired of being used for your wonderland! There's a whole fucking world out there Tris! One that you can't keep running from. You need to make a decision. I'm going to take you to the clinic so you can get a fucking test done, but you need to think about this. All of it. The way I see it, you have a variety of choices; abortion, adoption, you keep the child and live with me, you divorce your husband and get a protection order and live by yourself, live off the kindness of your friends and try to survive in that hell of a house you live in with that husband of yours, or grow a pair and face life head on. You have to make a decision, one that affects the life of an innocent child to come, one that you brought into this world." She stood shaking in his grasp for a moment before she closed her eyes and bit her lip, tears pouring past her wet lashes, down her soft and red face.

He loosened his grip on her, his fingers damp and red, she didn't look at him and instead pulled her hands closer to her chest, her shoulders shaking. His rage diminished as her eyes remained closed, as her lip trembled under her teeth's hold. His skin lit aflame, for a different reason aside from frustration, and it was now the uncomfortable sticky and hot feeling of hate, and the hollowing pain that came with it as he realized just how much he always hurt her. Self loathing was nothing foreign to his mind, he just hated how it followed talking to her. He sighed, a large puff of hot air before he lifted his hand to her wrist, gently taking it from her flinching form and examining how much he had hurt her physically.

He hadn't a second to his name before she whimpered and yanked her wrist from his much gentler grasp, her eyes open and an irritated red as tears silently poured from her cheeks. Her stormy eyes cold and glaring as she frowned at him, lips pulling into a sneer. Hate was the emotion on her face, though she didn't say a word of it he knew. He wasn't going to try and make it better, not when she had so much on her plate already. Now they just needed time. Always fucking time. He'd known her for nearly 4 years now and they needed more fucking time. He sighed to himself before rubbing his hand through his hair, pulling at the back and staring at her painfully. There was nothing he could say to make any of it better. So instead he reached for her, waiting for her to come to him.

His heart elevated from drowning when her soft fingertips traced down his own, teasing the calloused skin of his palm before she held his firm hand. Her eyes locked on the wall behind him, at the ceiling, at the floor at her feet. And she silently cried her salty precious and poisonous tears when he pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead, and then her nose, and each cheek, lingering before her lips. Letting her decide what exactly it was she wanted, what she and her probable baby needed. She hesitated, and he waited, feeling her heavy and hot breaths brush his chin and lips, knowing her own were parted and tingling in anticipation. Then she shifted and brushed their lips together softly, it was a short kiss, one that meant the beginnings of unspoken sorry's and forgiveness. He could deal with that.


	6. Chapter 6

Eric was probably the last person that she wanted at the clinic with her, aside from the man she was having an affair with, aside from the man who may be the father if it wasn't a false string of symptoms. He huffed, it was partly a scoff and a laugh at the dauntless leader, who as opposing and as cruel as he was, looked very uncomfortable sitting next to the blonde Abnegation girl, holding her hand because she admitted she was a bit scared. It took a certain amount of bravery to do that and not give a shit about the strange looks Eric got. He thought it was admirable. And hilarious.

Eric had marched down in a furious and confused storm once he was called to the clinic under the order of a petite girl. Once he understood however, he didn't hesitate to accuse his friend of any screwing around with his nemesis's wife. It was all a bit weird, even for a man who underwent social therapy to become a better person, whose best friend was a misunderstood asshole who loved fucking with people, who happened to be a Dauntless leader of all people. It was all fine to him in the long run. As long as the girl he was sleeping with was comfortable, especially after their argument.

The blonde girl laying in the paper covered clinic bed had been unusually quiet on the journey there, and she still was. He didn't know if he should worry about her, or feel some pride that his words got her to think. He watched as she squeezed Eric's hand as the doctor walked in, noticed how she tensed up as the man introduced himself before glancing at the two other men in the room. He noticed everything, from the nervous posture in the doctor's form to the waver in his voice. From her far away gazes down to her bad acting. She was scared, he knew that much, and he could only watch in vain as she walked to the directed bathroom with that cardboard box in her hand. He made a note to keep Eric around much more, and to buy him a drink for all the accusing and confused looks he was giving.

She came back 20 minutes later with a ghostly look on her face, her eyes watery and her lips parted. Over the silence that spread through the curtained off section, her slight nod was enough to verify that she wasn't imagining things, or that it was just a case of food poisoning. She was going to have a baby, and according to the doctor's analysis she was almost 3 weeks along. She didn't dethaw from her frozen position in the clinic until the doctor was gone and Eric offered lunch. He knew that Eric was smart enough to put two and two together if he had spent time with the Abnegation woman in his leave, if he befriended her, they were closer than Eric let on. It was funny, how she had no idea, she had two men who were trained to kill that would die for her. A child in the picture only made her more the pretty package. He knew Eric would ask about her home situation, about Four. He didn't quite know what to do about his former trainer.

They sat in a quiet cafe, one that Tris had sort of shuffled into like a zombie. She was doing the thousand mile stare, one that Peter had seen on some of the boys from the wall, he hated that look before, now he was afraid of it on her face. She sat leaned against the window, unmoving, hands in her lap. He didn't know how to help her, he didn't know what to do, the thought of ever having a child never once crossed his mind.

Eric sat across from them, having the right idea with a spiked espresso. Peter did his best to keep a scowl on his face, because it was the easiest thing to do. They all really needed to talk, Eric was there for support, and Tris had run away into her own mind, the worst thing to do at such a time, he used that to keep him ticked, and he frowned at the table, taking the first step to start the conversation, "She's really pregnant," Eric nodded slowly, eyeing the girl in question before staring straight at Peter. He knew he was fucked, hot knives split down his skin under the leader's glare. Peter shifted, "Yes, she and I have been sleeping together,"

"She has a husband, thats Adultery," Eric stated, staring down at his tiny cup and pushing it around with his finger. Peter sighed heavily and stared at the table, "Yeah, I know. She's married to your long time enemy. Just how much do you know? I was gone a while," Eric met Peter's gaze and paused, sighing and leaning back with his arms crossed, looking at Tris with soft eyes, "She was fucked up when you left her," Peter frowned at himself, fingers clenching in anger. Yes he had fucked up, their fights had proven that. "I found her hanging around the chasm, and the training room, she has a curfew with Four, if she breaks it, he beats her."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"There isn't enough proof to charge him-" Peter slammed his hand on the table,

"Bullshit there isn't enough proof! Her fucking body is littered with bruises!" He was fuming, enough to challenge the hard glare he received from the leader across from him. Eric clenched his jaw and pressed further, "Four knows cameras, and while I've sent people to watch him he always deletes footage we could use, the cameras outside his apartment have been tampered with too, he knows how to cover his tracks,"

"And he does it without you noticing?"

"Part of his security training was infiltration, he knows how to avoid us," Eric sighed, brows knitted together.

"Then we need to handle this discretely," Peter murmured, clenching his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. He hated not being able to do anything for her, she was sitting right fucking there, so fucking close but so far away. He felt like charging in there and killing the son of a bitch but he couldn't not when Tris needed him most. And that was the real fight, understanding that she would need him now, it couldn't continue to be a casual but emotional fuck and he send her back. If Four found out it might not be his, he would kill her. "I'm assuming she stays with you, that she has a key?" Eric pulled him from his panic,

"Right."

"Just how long has this been going on?" Eric pointed between the two,

"Over a year," Peter answered,

"What will you do now?" Eric asked seriously, leaving out the part with the kid. Peter didn't know. He was fucking scared, he didn't know how to be a father, hell, he hardly knew how to be a decent person. He didn't know how to be a good partner, certainly not for Tris, he took things and ruined them. He would have liked to say he knew what to do, that he was prepared to take care of a child and a woman at the same time, that he could manage it emotionally, mentally. But the screaming of a child, no matter who it belonged to put him off in annoyance, frustration. What was he going to do about work when he had a kid? How was he going to make Tris happy at the same time? He wasn't going to raise it on his own, but he certainly wasn't going to let Tris go back to Four where she would be beaten, where she might let it slip that she's with child. On the other hand, he never wanted kids, never thought of having them, if it were up to him he'd get rid of it. But it was her body, her child. It was a difficult position to be in. And the choice was ultimately up to her.

Up to a woman who was hardly capable of defending herself in her own home, against her husband. Who couldn't fight her most emotional urges, who could hardly stand the man she slept with on the side, who had a hard time just taking care of herself. It pissed him off. She wasn't ready, yet she had the nerve to cry and scream at him like it was his fault. She wasn't ready, and here she is doing the expected, running away from all her problems. Peter scowled at her, holding back a snarl as he answered the question, "It isn't up to me,"

Eric sat still for a moment, weighing his words carefully before he spoke, "A baby is no one's fault, Peter. These things happen," He eyed the man carefully as he continued, "I'm not sure Tris was expecting it either. We just have to do our best to be here for her, abandoning her now won't do any good. You need to decide what you really want right now, your choices will now affect hers," Eric stared Peter down, leaning forward and tapping the table, "What you need to be doing right now is proofing your apartment so she has a place to stay, and check the security on your place in case you run into any complications."

"Yeah I can install more cameras, she's used to staying in my bed, that's fine," Peter nodded, trying to keep a level head about it. Tris hadn't said anything the entire time, it didn't look like she was going to. Peter took her in, pale skin flushed white, hair messy, lips red from crying, eyes puffy. She was completely still, looking like death, "And Peter," Eric grabbed his attention, "Try to keep stress levels low, it can hurt the baby," Peter stared at the leader as he rose and departed, silent offer for contact as he walked away. Peter was left to take his broken looking partner back to his apartment, thinking there was no way in hell he was letting her go back to Four.

She stood still in the doorway after he opened it for her, staring at the couch and carpet, seeing through them. She would be elsewhere for a while, and Peter didn't know how to feel. He was worried about her, worried about himself, he was frustrated and confused as to how it could have happened, so soon, and with her. He picked her up when she didn't move, and took her to the bed, carefully removing her shoes after he laid her down, standing over her and feeling a knife of hurt cut into his chest as she started to cry.

He didn't know if he should hold her, or if he wanted to. Loneliness was a terrible thing, and Eric said not to stress her out, so he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, cursing himself for doing this to her. How did one even become a father? Did it just simply happen as soon as the baby was born? Or after? He didn't know how to act, or what to do, he didn't know how to feel or help her. He was at a loss. Hating her was easier than this, easier than loving her so much he considered keeping it.

Then there was the question of Four, who probably noticed she was gone by now. What if Four found out that she was pregnant, what then? There was only so much Peter could do, because Four was still her husband, and had legal custody of the baby. What happens when he finds out she's staying with Peter instead of him? Or if he finds out that she's been having an affair with Peter for a year? There were so many questions, so many risks, and he's going to do it all for her.

He turned and looked at her, Tris had shoved her face in a pillow, her hair a mess and fingers gripping the sheets. She was curled into herself, afraid. He remembered her confidence and bravery and missed it, he hated that he had done this to her, that he was again the reason for her pain. There was a time when he loved it, when he wanted to be the one to bring her pain, when he got a hit from the look of hurt on her face. But those urges to create pain, to watch her suffer were replaced by the memories of her laughter, of the look of utter bliss on her face as he gave her an orgasm.

He had grown used to her crazy emotions, to their slow development of getting to know each other, he had liked the feeling of being missed, of being needed. To be wanted by her was everything, he had tried for so long to push down his feelings for her, his lust, his drive for her, now with a baby, possibly his baby in her, he wasn't going to throw it all away. Four could go fuck himself, Peter hardly knew how to be decent, but he wasn't a piece of shit who beat his wife for little things. Peter had issues, but not so much that he would destroy a woman he swore to love over it, he wouldn't do those things to her. Not anymore, not when it was more than casual fucking, when she was pregnant with possibly his child, he couldn't bring himself to think like the sadist he was.

There used to be a time when he would snarl at her weakness, at her tears and laugh because it was strong to hold everything in. He was wrong, and her acid tears on his skin only made him hate himself. Fuck her and his hesitance to touch her when she's breaking, fuck it, he wasn't going to be careful, he wasn't a gentle person. He fucking loved her, and he would always show her that, now that she had a child inside her changed nothing in how he would handle her, he wasn't going to flinch away from her, not like she did with him. What was the use in that? If she's breaking and needs someone, why stay away? He hadn't felt any fear or wariness when he fucked her, when he claimed her on nearly every surface of the apartment, there was no stopping and waiting and asking for permission because without saying anything she had needed him.

He stood, frowning at himself and at her pitiful form, this wasn't the Tris he knew. The blonde he loved was strong, and determined, she always wanted answers, and confronted the ones she didn't like. She may not be ready for a kid yet, but dammit if she didn't try her best to be everything she wasn't. Peter laid down with her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to his chest, she was tense, and shaking as she cried silently into his pillow. He held her impossibly close to him, pressing his face into the back of her neck, breathing in her soft and teasing scent of vanilla and cinnamon. She trembled and made a soft wince as she curled into herself, trying to get away from him, "Don't do that," He warned quietly, skimming his fingers to her hand and pulling it closer, holding it against her stomach, caressing slowly with his thumb.

Slowly she relaxed, still crying but softer now, no longer shaking and making noises. They laid there for an hour until she was just sniffles and breathing through her puffy red lips, his thumb still rubbing her stomach and holding her hand. Her hand squeezed his slowly, and she shifted closer into his warm chest, "Peter?" She whispered, he hummed in response. She waited for a moment, "Do you still love me?" Insecurity was the first thing he heard in her tone, she was unsure now, and allowing the presence of a baby to change everything when it didn't. He was willing to accept that they weren't prepared, fuck they weren't even together, but that didn't mean it changed the way he felt about her. He groaned into her shoulder and kissed the soft skin, "Tris, this isn't the end of the world,"

"But-"

"No, whatever you're thinking right now, stop. I've accepted the consequences, and I'm willing to face them if you'll do the same," She grew quiet, and he realized that he practically promised to stay with her if she had the child. That in saying that he again confessed his love for her, but also promised to remain the way he was with her, and he wanted more than what they had. He wanted what Four had. He tightened his hold on her, he wouldn't let her go. He was done waking up alone after feeling bliss with her, he was over sending her back to hell when she had come to escape, he wasn't going to let her leave, he had grown too attached, too immersed and involved with her to go back.

She shifted, nodding silently to herself. He continued, "You're staying with me until we figure this out,"

"I don't get a choice?" She tested,

"Right now, you need a place to stay," He paused, considering his words, "I'd feel better if you were here, with me," Silence followed for a moment, and then Tris turned in his arms, eyes big and stormy, puffy and red from tears, nose rubbed red and lips wet and parted. She stared up at him, tangling their legs together. Her hands rested between them, and they shared air over the pillows. His hands gripped her waist and squeezed, drawing their hips closer, "Peter?" She whispered again, his eyes met her stormy grey, looking like the calm after the tempest, "Do you still want me?" He cut off her question with a sharp kiss, cupping her jaw and crushing his lips to hers. There wasn't a day that went by even in initiation that he didn't want her in some way, her nerve to ask the question made him kiss her harder, her fingers came up to knot in his dark hair, tugging and pulling him closer in bruising kisses.

He rolled on top of her, crushing their hips together, kissing her harder, wetter, trailing down her jaw and neck, biting and reveling in the soft sounds she made. Her body arched into his, hand snaking up his chest as his gripped the apex of her thighs and ass, she was so responsive to his touches. He practically growled into her skin, fingers hooking around her waist line and ripping her pants down, lips kissing around her abdomen, making her squirm. Breathlessly she huffed his name, head tilted back, eyes sealed shut, fingers weaving into his hair as he fingered panties, lips kissing down, down, down, making her gasp higher and arch her hips further into his mouth.

She was naked from the waist down in one swift movement, his fingers gripped her thighs, and his mouth was on her. She cried out in impatience, fisting his hair into her fingers, legs squeezing his shoulders. His fingers teased and skimmed her sensitive skin, pressing lightly into her folds, rubbing in slow agonizing circles. She moaned in impatience, trembling as he placed wet open mouthed kisses along her thighs, closer to where she wanted him most but never giving her the satisfaction. His thumb made work of her sensitive bud of nerves, pressing and caressing it in slow circles, her hips softly rolling into his hand. Then he kissed her where she needed it most, replacing his thumb and continuing its motions with his tongue. Slowly he slid a finger inside her, granting a heavy moan in response. She squeezed deliciously around his hand, slick wet and hot, he pulled off and kissed her stomach, glancing at her and finding the face of pure ecstasy and bliss, brows knitted together, dark eyelashes brushing her soft cheeks, lips parted in a sensual 'o'. She was so fucking pretty like this.

He pushed in another, watching her take a deep gasp, letting out a breathless moan as he stretched her. His tongue made quick work of her, unraveling her with each movement of his fingers which cupped her sweet little pussy. Her fingers tugged his hair when he swirled the flat of his tongue up from his fingers to her rosy clit. Her legs trembled over his shoulders, and he pushed them closer to her chest, fingering her faster and hitting that spot that made her call out his name. She warned him with a shiver and moaning his name, her walls squeezing his fingers as he pumped. She came undone quickly, trembling and letting out long heady moans, his tongue gave her abused folds soft caresses, tasing her and moaning, every part of her was sweet, like strawberries and cream.

She mewled with exhaustion, panting heavily and softly gripping his hair. He massaged her thighs and ass with his hands, kissing up her stomach, moving her shirt and kissing her ribs. She let out a breathy laugh, releasing his hair from the death grip and bringing the back of her hands to her eyes. He crawled up to her, placing a soft kiss on her chin, getting the attention of those stunning eyes. He stared at her, taking in the soft blush that crawled up her chest, neck and dusted over her nose and cheeks. Marveling at the almost invisible freckles on her nose, as how alive her eyes were, so fucking beautiful. He leaned in and kissed her, tasting her soft kisses and spanish lips. His hands coming up to cradle her face, thumbs softly brushing her cheekbones, kisses growing lighter, shorter. He stopped, resting his forehead on her cheek.

Tenderly her fingers skimmed up over his shoulders, teasing the skin and up into his neck, tracing his spine. She didn't need to say anything, as there was little to say. He had so much on his mind, things he wished he could say now, but wouldn't. Right now, all she needed was something normal, no surprises. He was her escape from the beginning, he was willing to stay that way for now. For now.


End file.
